His Life Before
by Tragic Alchemy
Summary: A glimpse at Norman Jayden's life before the origami murders and events of Heavy Rain. Pairing: Norman x OC. Rated T for language and some mild adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note and Disclaimer: Hey, guys. I feel like I haven't logged on in years... truthfully, I haven't. So, let me take a minute to introduce this fanfic. A couple of years ago, when I played Heavy Rain, I felt like there was a huge hole in Norman Jayden's character profile. Instead of being frustrated with not really knowing him, I decided I would create my own idea of a Pre-Heavy Rain scenario. Here, you will follow his relationship with an original character, April Kelly. She is not based on anyone in particular. She's just a figment of my imagination. In addition, I want to mention that Jayden may seem 'overly mushy,' but I couldn't help but really want him to have a soft side. So yes, this was written two years ago, and it has been sitting on my computer ever since. I finally broke down and decided to share it. Enjoy. **I do not own Heavy Rain or the rights to any of its associated characters.**

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"The usual, Miss Kelly?"

"Yes, Danny. Thank you," I said as I handed my credit card to the guy on the other side of the counter. All the employees at this corner coffee shop knew me by name. After all, I had been ordering an iced vanilla latte and cheese Danish three times a week for the past two years. This was my safe haven. I was an eighth grade English teacher, and so I was constantly grading papers. This was the location I chose to carry out those duties of being a teacher. Coffee and Danish in hand, I made my way to my normal table in the far right-hand corner and pulled out the stack of personal reflection essays over "The Diary of Anne Frank." This was always an interesting unit because it allowed me to get to know my students on a more personal level. "The Diary of Anne Frank" always evoked very powerful emotions from just about every student, and I was always curious as to how their new knowledge would influence their approach to everyday life. And this is what I loved about my job.

"The usual, Agent Jayden?" I heard Danny say. I looked up and glanced toward the counter. There was the beautiful FBI agent that came here just about as often as I did. We'd never spoken, but we were always aware of each other. He took his coffee and sandwich and seated himself at his normal table in the corner opposite me. He gave a brief smile in my direction before pulling out his glasses and glove and getting to work. I had only ever seen him with this technology. ARI I think it was called.

I looked back down at my papers. I needed to keep working, and I had let Agent Jayden become a distraction. Regardless, I still wished that I could speak to him. We were both always here and always alone. I pushed the thought out of my mind and focused on the task at hand. Two days later it was the exact same process – a brief exchange of friendly smiles and getting to work on our own matters. In fact, it was the exact same thing for the next couple of weeks. Finally, it seemed as though our cycle had been broken.

"The usual," I heard him say at the counter. After receiving his items he walked to the middle of the coffee house and stopped. I directed my attention to his normal spot and noticed that it was taken by a group of studying students. I continued to look around and realized that every seat was taken – except for the spare seat at my table. I hadn't realized it was so crowded, but it didn't surprise me. It was midterms week for the junior high, high school, and college in the area. Everyone was hitting the books. I continued to watch Agent Jayden as he scanned the shop and realized the assessment I had just made. After briefly looking in my direction, he began to walk toward me.

"Excuse me," he began. I locked eyes with this beautiful man – baby blues. It made my heart smile. "I hate to bother you, but would you mind if I sat here with you? It seems that the entire place is occupied."

"Be my guest," I offered. "It's midterms week, so the place is packed – naturally," I said with a shrug.

"I should've known," he joked with that simple smirk of his. "Norman Jayden," he said holding his hand out to me. Houston, we have a first name.

"April Kelly," I said as I took his hand and returned the handshake. "You're here just about as often as I am," I pointed out.

"I work for the FBI. Headquarters is right around the corner. Besides, I like their sandwiches," he finished, taking a bite out of his.

"The FBI, huh? Special agent?" I asked, already aware of the answer.

"Yeah, something like that," he responded with a smile. "What about you? What do you do that brings you here so often?"

"I teach at the junior high. I prefer to do most of my work here. My apartment is cold and cluttered, and my classroom is a bit lonely after hours."

"What do you teach?"

"Eighth grade English," I answered.

"Do you like it?" he asked as he pulled out his glasses and glove.

"Very much so," I answered wholeheartedly. "What about you? Do you enjoy the FBI?"

"Most of the time," he admitted. "It's stressful at times, but I wouldn't have taken this route if I didn't want to."

"That's a very truthful statement," I said with an understanding smile. He nodded. "So, can I ask you a question?"

"Depends on what it is," he said.

"Okay… well, I wanted to know how those glasses of yours worked."

"Oh, these?" he asked, turning the glasses over in his gloved hand. "It's a technology known as ARI. It's a form of virtual reality. With these, I'm able to sort case files and analyze evidence. They're a life saver," he said.

"Interesting," I responded.

"I bet I could find out a lot about you by just scanning your fingerprint," he said.

"Oh, yeah?" I asked as I slid my cup of coffee toward him. He slipped his glasses on and stayed silent for a moment.

"April Kelly. Eighth grade English teacher," he began.

"But I just told you that." He held up a hand and continued.

"Been working there for the past two years… you live off of Cedar Creek… graduated from Marshall… I could continue, but I think I'm already scaring you," he said as he slid the glasses off. I stared at him in awe.

"Impressive," I admitted through a smile. It was slightly freaky, but what can I say? He was an FBI agent; it was his job to be able to find these things out about people. "I could imagine how handy those things are." He smiled. "But anyway, I should let you get to work."

"You were a welcome distraction, Miss Kelly," he said.

"Please, call me April," I said.

"Okay. April." And then it was time to do the work we had gone there to do. An hour and a half later, I had finished organizing my class's midterm exam, and so I had to be the first to leave.

"Well, Agent Jayden, it was a pleasure meeting you, and I look forward to seeing you again," I said.

"Call me Norman," he said.

"Okay. Norman," I copied his earlier repetition of my name.

"It was nice meeting you, too. Hope to see you soon," he finished with a smile. I walked away a happy woman that afternoon.

"Yes, yes, the usual," I said with a smile at the counter my following visit.

"Yes, ma'am," Danny said as he took my credit card from me. "I saw that you finally met Agent Jayden."

"What?" I was taken aback for a moment.

"We've all been taking bets on how long it would take before you two got together," he told me.

"Got together?" I asked.

"Yeah. You two are always here, yet you never talked."

"Define got together," I requested. I was still turning that terminology over in my mind. He laughed at me.

"It doesn't matter." He handed me my coffee and Danish.

"So, who won?" I inquired.

"I did." He flashed a smile, and I laughed.

"Congratulations," I said before turning to take my seat. It was rather empty that day, and I wondered if Norman would show up, and if he did, if he would sit next to me or at his spot across the room. Instead of dwelling on the possibilities, I pulled out the midterms my students had completed and began to grade.

"Miss Kelly," I heard him say. I looked up and saw Norman standing over me with his coffee and sandwich in hand.

"April," I corrected him with a smile.

"April," he tried again, curling his lips upward into a soft smile. "May I sit with you?" he asked.

"Absolutely," I responded. Yes, please sit next to me, you gorgeous man. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face; I felt like a swooning teenager.

"How did midterms go?" he asked as he made himself comfortable at my table – _our_ table.

"So far, so good," I said as I nodded to the stack of partially graded test papers in front of me.

"Good," he smiled.

"I have another question," I said. He laughed.

"Under one condition," he said. I raised an eyebrow. "For every question you ask, I get to ask you two."

"I doubt I'm that interesting. If anything I should be asking you two for every one you ask me. I'm not the FBI agent here," I said with a laugh.

"On the contrary, I find you very interesting," he said, studying my face very carefully. I cleared my throat after a couple moments passed.

"One for one," I amended.

"Deal." That spurred a conversation spanning several hours about our careers, education, random cross-country escapades, and his plenty and my select few international opportunities.

"Yeah, England for a semester, and Scotland for a mini-mester," I finished.

"I've always wanted to visit Scotland," he said.

"Funny, you don't strike me as a Scotsman," I laughed.

"Well, I'm not, but still."

"Do me a favor and appreciate the many countries you _have_ visited," I asked of him.

"Oh, believe me. I do." By this time, it was dark outside, and I still hadn't finished grading my papers. Norman's ARI never left his pocket.

"Wow," I declared after glancing at my watch. "I really need to be taking off."

"Yeah, I should as well," Norman said. I began gathering my things, but as I stood from my chair, I lost my grip on the top paper, which caused all of the other papers to fall to the floor with it. I sighed, embarrassed – classic girl meets boy scenario. Before I could fall to my knees to start picking them up, Norman had said, "Let me help you," and squatted down to retrieve the papers.

"Thank you," I said as I knelt down next to him.

"No problem," he responded.

"I'll see you later?" I questioned as I took the papers Norman had gathered and we both stood.

"You plan on being here tomorrow?" I paused and smiled.

"Well considering I didn't even make a dent in my work this afternoon," I said as I held the ungraded exams up. "Looks like I will be."

"How about we just stick to coffee, and I'll treat you to dinner afterwards," he offered. I just _had_ to be dreaming. Yes! Yes! Yes!

"I'd like that," I said, keeping it cool.

"Great." Insert beautiful man smile. "Goodnight, April," he said with a nod.

"Goodnight." Goodness! I continued to swoon the entire way home.

And the swooning didn't stop the next day. I felt like I couldn't concentrate on my students during the day, and I even touched up my makeup after the final bell had rang, which was something that I rarely ever did.

I expected to beat Norman there like I normally did, but when I got to the coffee house, there he was sitting at our normal table with not only his coffee, but my vanilla latte as well. I melted into a gracious smile and found my place next to him. An hour later, we were around the corner at the best sushi bar downtown.

"Tell me about your family," Norman requested as he picked up another roll.

"Can't you do that by looking at my fingerprint?"

"I could, but I'd much rather hear about it from you." Gosh, that smile!

"Well, I'm an only child. My mom was a concert violinist for years until she had to get surgery on her wrist, which forced her to retire. She misses performing, but that surgery never stops her from playing at home. Typical of my family," I laughed.

"And your dad?" he inquired.

"I am obviously his daughter. Inherited my big eyes and two left feet from him. He passed away shortly after I graduated high school in a motorcycle accident – trying to relive his glory days, you know? But he was great. He held a boring position as an accountant for the plastics factory, but that didn't make him a boring person. We shared a love of literature and baseball."

"You speak highly of him," Norman observed.

"He deserves to be spoken highly of," I responded with a smile. "So what about you?"

"Well," he began. "I'm a baseball fan as well." I studied him for a moment.

"Brewers fan?" I guessed. He looked at me in awe.

"How did you know?"

"I can just tell," I laughed. "I almost had you pegged for a Cincinnati Reds fan," I admitted.

"Oh, no," Norman protested with a laugh. "And you… Cubs?"

"Nope."

"Padres?"

"Heavens, no!" I exclaimed. He seemed stumped. "Mets," I finally told him.

"Really?" he asked with a puzzled look.

"Yeah, my grandfather played center field for them for three years."

"Ah, so that explains it."

"So, please continue," I requested.

"I may not be an only child, but I often feel like it," he said.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"My sister is thirteen years older than me, so we never really had that brother and sister type of relationship that most kids have. She's a chiropractor outside of Syracuse. She's married, but they don't have any kids. My parents are in Grand Rapids. My dad was a police officer his entire life, and my mom stuck to teaching Sunday school classes."

"How often do you see them?" I asked, sensing a bit of sadness and a little discomfort when he talked about them. He sighed.

"My folks? Never. My sister? I saw her before I went through the academy."

"But you've been an agent for a few years now," I pointed out.

"Yep," he said as he picked up his drink. I could tell he really didn't like staying on this subject, so I decided to move on and return to it at another time. I was interested, of course, but I didn't want to pry – especially on a first date.

"So—"

"April, you ready to get out of here?" he asked as he pulled at his collar.

"Uh, sure," I responded as he placed a wad of cash on our table. We stood from our seats, and he took my hand as we walked out.

"So, it's a Friday night, and the night is young," Norman said.

"Please don't say dancing," I said, hoping he remembered what I had said about my two left feet. He made a face.

"I'm not much of a dancer," he admitted. "How about a movie?" I accepted, and the rest of the night was smooth and natural.

Several months later, we were a steady, happy couple. Well, mostly happy. Norman was having a lot of issues at work with some new management and it was stressing him out to no end. Furthermore, there was talk about the landlord of my building declaring bankruptcy, and finding a new place to live wasn't exactly what I wanted to be doing with my time.

It was a Thursday, and as soon as the final bell rang and I dismissed my students, that beautiful man of mine came through the door to my classroom as soon as the final student had left.

"Isn't this a surprise?" I happily observed.

"Hey, baby," Norman said as he placed a quick kiss high on my cheek. "You ready to take off?"

"Movie night?" I asked wishfully. He smiled a half-smile.

"If that's what you want," he said. I pulled two new releases from my bag.

"It is," I said as I held them up. "I'd just like to quickly run by my place to check my mail. That alright?" Norman nodded as I gathered my things, and he placed his hand on my back, leading me out.

When we arrived at my apartment, there was a strange note taped to my door, so I pulled it down to examine it. My mouth gaped open.

"What's wrong?" Norman asked.

"As of next week, I'm homeless," I said flatly.

"What?" Norman questioned as he took the notice from me.

"Yep," I said as I unlocked the door to my place. "Looks like John couldn't keep up."

"And sold the building to a magazine?" Norman asked with furrowed eyebrows as he tilted the notice every which way as if the words would change depending on the angle. I plopped down on my couch and stared at the blank television set as the afternoon sun beamed in through the vertical blinds. Norman closed the door and sat down on the couch next to me. I leaned up against him, and he began to run his fingers through my hair.

"I... would you…" Norman tried. I tilted my head to look up at him.

"Yeah?" I prompted.

"Move in with me," he concluded. I paused then sat up to face him.

"Are you sure, Norman?"

"April, I love you," he said sincerely, no doubt on his face whatsoever. "Would you please move in with me?"

"I love you too, baby," I said and kissed him.

"I'll take that… as a 'yes,'" he said between kisses.


	2. Chapter 2

**I do not own Heavy Rain or any of its associated characters.**

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I can't say my mother was thrilled that I was moving in with the love of my life out of wedlock, but I had already made my decision.

"I hope you know what you're doing," she said when we had met up for lunch the next afternoon.

"I know what I'm doing, mom," I assured her. "I mean, you like him, right?"

"Well, sure, he's okay."

"Just okay?" I asked, sounding a bit offended.

"Oh, April, you know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I do."

"He's a decent guy. I just don't appreciate him violating tradition… are you pregnant?" she abruptly asked.

"Mom! No!" I exclaimed. She sighed in relief.

"Just checking," she defended. "I don't want any surprises."

"Sorry," I apologized, referring to this surprise I had just dumped on her.

"Well, any _more_ surprises," she qualified. "Just promise me something."

"What's that?" I asked.

"Be safe," she said with a look of genuine concern.

"Mom, please. I took sex ed. when I was in high school," I said.

"No, that's not what I mean. Guard your heart." I agreed, but little did I know that I should have heeded that warning – taken it a bit more seriously.

Two days later I was moving in. Norman had presented me with my own copy of his key that morning but had to run off to do some fancy FBI stuff. He promised he'd help me move all my heavy stuff later, which he did. Much to my surprise, and satisfaction I might add, he brought two of his co-workers to help him do the heavy lifting. I resorted to the dainty jobs like picture frames and nic-nacs. And three days after that, I turned in my key to the Cedar Creek apartments for good, and it looked as though I had always lived with Norman. All of my things fit just perfectly. Those that didn't fit were either donated or given to my mother for safekeeping. I was on cloud nine; everything was just perfect.

Then came the anniversary of my dad's death. Normally, I would be able to handle it just fine, but it had hit me particularly hard that year. Thinking so much about my own dad made me wonder about Norman's. He never really talked about his family ever since our first date at the sushi bar. Hell, he was on good terms with my mother, yet I had never even spoken to any of his family members. I decided to try to inquire during dinner, but I had to be gentle with it. This was a sore spot for Norman, and I was clearly aware of that.

"This was my dad's favorite," I said, referring to the Salisbury steak. "'Cheap but tasty' he used to say."

"I'm sorry you miss him," Norman said. His statement lacked a segway, and I could tell that this was going to be tough.

"I was thinking that since my dad is gone, maybe I could send a nice card to your father for Father's Day this year, from the both of us, of course." Norman froze.

"I'd rather not," he said. Damn. No progress at all. C'mon April!

"Maybe we could invite your sister down for the holidays then. It would be nice for me to finally meet her and for the two of you to catch up," I tried, but I could tell that I was losing.

"No." I felt like pouting, but I was above that… I had to go for the jugular.

"Why not?" Norman locked eyes with me, but thankfully they lacked anger. I could tell he was trying to think up an excuse that wouldn't hurt me.

"Rosie and I just don't talk anymore," he finally said. Funny, that was the first time he ever used her name. I didn't even know she _had_ a name until that moment at the dinner table. While I knew he was being extremely patient with me, I had to keep trying.

"Baby, this is important to me."

"Why?" he questioned. Well, crap, he had me there. Why exactly was this important to me? Instead of formulating an answer, I pulled a classic female move and countered with another question.

"How come you never talk about your family?"

"Because there's nothing to say."

"You can trust me, Norman," I said.

"Can I?" he shot back at me. Ouch! That one really hurt, and the angst on my face didn't hide it. As soon as a single tear slipped from the corner of my eye, Norman was immediately regretful of his words and was at my side. "I didn't mean that," was all he could say.

Nothing was said between the two of us the rest of the night until I crawled into bed. I curled up on my side and faced the wall away from Norman. It sounded as if he had tried to say something a couple times, quickly catching his breath each time.

"April," he finally said.

"Hm?"

"Look at me." I didn't move. "Please?" I gave in and rolled over to look him in the eye. "I want you to know that I trust you. I trust you with my life."

"Then why—"

"I promise I'll tell you the story someday soon. Just not now," he said. I made a mental note of that promise; it had to be enough for the time being because that's all I was getting.

In the weeks following, I grew more and more curious about his family. I didn't push the subject with Norman, but I constantly turned the thoughts over in my head during my spare time. Finally I decided to do some investigating in hopes that Norman's investigative talents had rubbed off on me in some way during the course of our relationship.

Convinced that internet search engines were my friend, I searched for female chiropractors in the Syracuse area with the first name Rosie. Nothing. I changed the name to Rose. Still nothing. After pulling up a list of baby names, I started to plug in several different variations of the name Rose. Rosalie gave me two matches, so I copied the phone numbers down. Rosemary gave me two more matches. After I completed the list of baby names, the two Rosalies and two Rosemarys were all I had. It was time to start making some phone calls.

"Dr. Stewart Chiropractic, this is Stephanie."

"Hi, my name is April Kelly, and I'm actually looking for a long lost family member and was wondering if you could tell me if Dr. Stewart's maiden name is Jayden," I said. I blushed in embarrassment at how ridiculous I sounded. Still, I was determined.

"Dr. Stewart has never been married," she responded, slightly indifferent.

"Thanks for your time," I quickly said before I smashed the "end" button.

The second Rosalie was married, but was not formally a Jayden. The receptionist of the first Rosemary refused to give me that information, and when she told me that I would have to speak to the chiropractor myself, she was adamant in claiming that she had no idea when she would return. I rolled my eyes as I hung up.

"Okay, let's hope you're my Rosie," I said as I dialed the office number of the second Rosemary.

"This is Dr. Klein," a female voice said on the other end. I was taken aback, as I was expecting for a receptionist to pick up.

"Dr. Klein? My name is April Kelly."

"Hi, Miss Kelly. Are you a new patient?" she asked. She seemed really friendly, and I began to wonder if this was the same Rosie that Norman didn't talk to anymore.

"Um, actually I'm not," I said.

"Then what can I do for you?"

"…Do you normally answer your own phone?" I asked stupidly. She laughed.

"No, but Mandy is out sick today, so I'm running around like a madman."

"If this is a bad time, I can call back," I offered.

"Nonsense," she dismissed. "No better time than now."

"I was wondering if you were familiar with someone named Norman Jayden," I said slowly, and she was silent for a moment. "Dr. Klein?"

"Oh, God, is he dead? What happened?" she was obviously upset.

"No, no!" I exclaimed. "Norman's fine," I assured.

"Oh," she sighed in relief. "Then what is this about?"

"Well, Norman and I have been dating for some time now, and I just wanted to make contact with the family, you know?" I said in a hopeful tone. Oh, geez, I hope I didn't come off as a crazy, psycho girlfriend.

"You and my baby brother?"

"Yeah."

"Are you getting married?" she asked.

"No, I—not yet, at least," I said, glancing down at my naked ring finger.

"Aw, shucks," she said, and I couldn't help but smile at her language. "Norman's a good guy," she continued. "He's been quiet and secluded since our parents' deaths, but I raised him the best I could. I always had high hopes for him, and I still do, as a matter of fact." His parents were dead? Why didn't he tell me?

"So you raised him?" I asked.

"Sure did. He was a stubborn little man, and it was tough raising a six-year-old when you're only nineteen, but I had to step up and do it. It was hard for him to find our parents like that…" she trailed off. Wow, I had no idea what I had gotten myself into.

"How did you make it work?" I inquired.

"Well, Bobby and I went ahead and got married, and I went to night school while he worked at the bank. We pulled it together. Not sure how, but we did."

"Norman was lucky to have you," I said.

"We were lucky to have him," she said, sounding quite sad. "April… has he ever mentioned why he never calls anymore?"

"No. That was something I was hoping I could ask you," I admitted. She sighed.

"Can I give you my personal contact numbers? Oh, and my e-mail address? Please, never hesitate to contact me. It was so great to talk to you," she said.

"It was good to finally talk to you, too," I said as I graciously wrote down her contact information. This was huge, and I had _no clue_ as to what I was supposed to do next. I had mixed feeling about what I had just done – gone behind my boyfriend's back to find out some very personal information. Unfortunately that didn't stop me from researching further.

Recalling that Norman said his parents were in Grand Rapids, and remembering that Rosie had mentioned he was six when they passed, I did the math and searched for obituaries online. I was very surprised at how quickly I found it.

"William and Elsa Jayden," it read. "Survived by children Rosemary and Norman." I searched other newspaper articles for William and Elsa, and I was shocked at what I found: "Husband and Wife Victims of Brutal Homicide." I had come this far; I had to read it. As I continued to read, I began to realize why Norman never spoke of his parents. It turned out that he was the one who found them dead in their home in Grand Rapids. I began to cry for him, feeling incredibly lousy and immensely intrusive. How could I do this to him? I was immediately ashamed and closed every window on my computer.

Dinner was awkward that night. Norman was suffering from a migraine, and I continued to feel awful for my investigation earlier that day. It took everything in me to keep from crying when looking at him or rushing over to him to just hold him.

"Did you take anything for your head?" I asked softly.

"Yeah," he responded. "You okay?" he asked in return.

"Just a rough day," I said. It wasn't exactly a lie – just wasn't the truth either. How long was I going to be able to keep this from him?

"What happened?" he inquired. Crap.

"Baby, I'm sorry," I said as I began to cry. Double crap. He seemed very confused. "I…" I tried.

"You…?"

"I contacted your sister today," I confessed. He froze.

"What?" Oh, no. He was angry, and I don't think I could have felt lower than I did at that moment.

"I know… I feel awful," I admitted.

"You had no right!" What a great day, April. You chose to challenge Norman's trust on a day he had an excruciating headache. What great timing. "How?! Why?! What did she say?!" he demanded. I spilled.

"I did an online search for chiropractors in Syracuse and called. The moment I dropped your name, your sister immediately opened up to me," I choked out, tears still flowing rapidly. He was livid… downright fuming, and he didn't hide it. I was suddenly scared of him, which was a new feeling. He stood, walked over to me, and pulled my chair out with me in it far enough to where he could stand directly in front of me, look down, and glare. I could feel the heat of his anger emanating off of his body. He wasn't going to hurt me, was he?

He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it, clenching his jaw. He turned his head and took a few breaths. Eventually his jaw muscles loosened, and he backed off.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," he said flatly, and he walked off to the bedroom. When he didn't return after awhile, I gave up on dinner and cleaned up. Moments later, I showered up and got ready for bed. When I left the bathroom, Norman was no longer in the bedroom, but I could hear the T.V. on in the living room. I did some grading, a little reading, and finally turned the light out to get some sleep. I was worried, and not knowing how Norman was coping with my wrongdoing made everything worse. I wanted to go to him, but it was obvious that he didn't want to see me.

After tossing and turning for what seemed like several hours, the bedside lamp was switched on. I opened my eyes to see Norman sitting down on the bed. He didn't face me; he just sat and stared at his hands.

"Norman?" I asked.

"There was a double-header in little league that day," he began without warning. "My folks came to the first game but left during the first inning of the second game. Sometimes I wish they would've stayed for both games. Other times I wish I hadn't played at all." I sat up to let him know he was getting my full attention, and he took a breath before he continued. "A friend's mom dropped me off at home after the second game, and I noticed that the back door was wide open. I found Mother first; she was in the doorway of the downstairs bathroom – eyes bloodshot, bloody nose, and her front teeth had been knocked out. Her dress had been pulled up above her waist, and her legs were covered with blood. I found out later that she had been strangled. When Dad never responded to my screaming, I ran upstairs to their bedroom, and I found him facedown in a pool of blood." He stopped and didn't speak for several minutes.

"What did you do next?" I gently prompted.

"I was six," he said. "And I didn't know _what_ to do. I ran to the neighbors and told them that I thought my parents were dead. They called the police, and that was that. I was shipped off to my sister in Syracuse shortly after who was in school, and had to give up being a full-time student because of me. I feel like she despises me for that."

"That's not true," I said, still speaking softly.

"How would you know?" he challenged.

"She speaks very highly of you. She cares deeply for you and could never despise you. What happened wasn't your fault, and she understands that… is that why you don't speak to her?"

"I don't want to ruin her life any more than I already have," he said, almost a whimper. I just shook my head. He sighed and started again. "Anyway, as I grew up, I knew that all I wanted to do was prevent anyone else from hurting people the way my folks were hurt."

"That's where the FBI comes in," I concluded. I placed my hand on his shoulder, but he moved from beneath it, standing to leave.

"I love you," was all he said as he walked out of the bedroom.

"I love you, too," I said to the empty air. Norman never came back to bed.

When I got ready for work the next morning, Norman was already gone. The apartment was very empty and very depressing. The whole day was dreary and just drug on and on. I was even a little nervous to go home, unsure of whether Norman would be home or not and unsure of how he would be feeling.

The apartment was just as empty when I got home, and I didn't know when to expect him. I ordered take-out and refrigerated his portion. I went through all the motions of a normal evening, but by nine o'clock, I was worried. I called his cell, but I was immediately dumped into his voicemail. Not long after that, he came through the front door, and I instantly stood to meet him there.

"Hey, baby," I said as I sighed in relief from seeing him in one piece. "I—" I tried to begin, but his mouth was suddenly on mine. The rest of the night was a complete blur. He didn't leave my side the entire night – didn't even break the contact between our bodies.

After that night of incredible intimacy, it felt as though things were getting back on track. We never revisited the subject of his parents, but I was able to convince him to finally call his sister. She sent an e-mail the following day telling me how wonderful it was to finally speak with him. I had high hopes for them.

But then things began to get rough again. He complained of constant headaches, and nothing seemed to relieve them. Soon, he started eating less, sleeping less, and getting home later and later. I began to feel as if I was walking on eggshells around him – careful not to say the wrong thing because arguments were becoming frequent. The funny thing was that the arguments started over the most trivial things; he was just always so irritable. One night in particular marked the beginning of our worst fights.

"This movie is stupid," Norman said as he got up from the couch. He hadn't been sitting for ten minutes, and he was growing even more restless by the minute.

"We can change it," I suggested.

"I don't want to watch anything," he said as he marched off to the kitchen.

"You hungry?" I called as I got up and followed him.

"No." When I peered around the corner he was looking into each cupboard.

"Is there something I can help you with?" I asked.

"Why are you always on my ass?" he questioned, becoming hostile.

"I'm just trying to help," I said, looking at the ground.

"Will you shut up?!" he yelled. I snapped my head up to look at him. He had _never_ acted this way toward me before. "And stop looking at me like that!" He stormed out of the kitchen, shoving me forcefully aside as he did so.

"What's wrong with you?" I whimpered.

"You think I have a problem?! _You're_ my problem, you poisonous bitch!" Why did he keep yelling at me? And where in God's name was this coming from? I wandered out of the kitchen just in time to unintentionally block his path to the front door. Norman took me by the arm and slammed me into the wall while saying, "Stay the hell out of my way." He left the apartment, slamming the door behind him. I sunk to the floor and began to cry. When Norman had returned, I was already in bed pretending to sleep.

When I woke up the next morning, bruises graced my arm where Norman grabbed me and the shoulder that crashed into the wall. Definitely a long sleeves kind of day. Norman was in the kitchen making toast and coffee and had the table set for two. When I sat down, he placed my mug in front of me and took the seat opposite me.

"April…" he tried. My eyes began to sting again, and I was afraid he would see me cry. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"What happened?" I whispered.

"I don't know," he answered. "I just couldn't control myself. Nothing like that had ever happened before, and I never want it to happen again."

"Me neither," I choked out quietly, still trying to hold back tears.

After work, I wanted to go somewhere I felt safe. Where else than the beloved coffee shop? This was sure to remind me of the beginning of the relationship. The fun, happy, and safe part of our relationship. I made my way there without a second thought. Danny's familiar face greeted me with a smile.

"Miss Kelly!" he exclaimed. "It's been quite awhile."

"It has," I confirmed with a nod. He didn't even have to ask what I wanted; he went right to work on my latte.

"How's Agent Jayden?" he asked, trying to make conversation.

"He's…" I paused. Play it off, April. "He's doing okay," I lied.

"Good to hear," Danny said as he handed me my usual order.

After grading and finishing off my "after-school snack," I packed up and headed straight home. Norman wasn't home yet, and for some reason, I was happy about that. He may have apologized, but that didn't fix things entirely. That didn't take away the fact that not only had he hurt me, he had terrified me. Like the night before, I was already in bed by the time he came home.

"April?" He kept the lights off as he got into bed. I didn't answer; I didn't want to let him know that I was still awake. He ran his fingers through my hair anyway. "I'm sorry," he began to whisper. And, of course, I started to cry again. "I'm sorry," he repeated over and over until I finally fell asleep.

The following week, Norman was very careful around me. He treated me as if I was fragile cargo, even calling off from work just to spend a quiet day at home with me. I had hoped he had learned from our little incident, but tension slowly began to build again. Things went right back to hell – fights at every turn, coming in late at night with no explanations. I wanted to ask if it was another woman, but I didn't dare when he was so short tempered. It wasn't until one rainy weekend that I began to catch on to what was happening.

"Dammit!" Norman exclaimed as he threw down a newspaper. The front page was decorated with large letters stating, "10 Year Old Found Murdered – Still No Leads."

"Again?" I asked sympathetically as I took a seat across from him at the table.

"Yes, again," he snapped. "I just... I need to go." He stood up and went to grab his raincoat.

"Baby, you can talk to me," I said as I quickly stood and took a few steps in his direction. He stopped and just stared at me, his eyes angry. "Talk to me," I asked of him.

"Talk to you?" he asked.

"Please."

"What am I supposed to say? Tell you how I'm failing at my job? Tell you how I've been working hard on these past two murder cases and still have no goddamn clue as to who may be the killer? Tell you that seeing you everyday just makes me even angrier with myself? Tell you…" he trailed off. "Just get out of my way," he said and pushed me back so forcefully that I ended up on the floor.

"You," I started, but my throat suddenly tightened, and my eyes began to sting. Why did he always make me cry?

"What?!" he barked as he stopped at the door, hand on the doorknob and facing away from me.

"You said… you said you wouldn't…" He left the door and walked over to me. Standing over me, he bent down and grabbed me by the shirt. "You're going to hit me?" But instead of hitting me, he just threw me into the floor, my head hitting the tile rather hard. He marched to the door and let himself out, slamming it behind him. I didn't move; I almost felt like I couldn't. Instead, I just laid there and cried.

When I finally felt like I could get up, I slowly lifted my head up off the floor. Everything was spinning, and placing my fingers where my head had collided with the ground, I found a small amount of blood matted in my hair. I didn't go to the hospital like all my peers would have instructed me; I just took a shower and went to bed.

The next morning, I was sick. Very sick. I awoke as the sun was coming up but didn't leave the bathroom until lunchtime. After the nausea had passed, I felt perfectly fine other than the tender spot on the back of my head. There was no sign of Norman, and it was still raining, so I just decided to do housework around the apartment. That was the day that I discovered what Norman was really up to.

When I gathered the dirty laundry from the bathroom, I heard something clank on the tile floor. Looking down, I saw two vials, both with traces of a blue substance. I dropped the clothes and picked the vials up to get a better look.

"Oh, my God," I said under my breath. This was what he was hiding from me?!

Again trusting my internet search engine more than my own knowledge on narcotics, I fired up my computer to search for what I had found. After only a few minutes of searching, I was lead to an information page on triptocaine. Apparently, it was a highly addictive painkiller, which made complete sense considering he had been suffering from such painful headaches for so long. I also thought back to his violent outbursts and realized that this wonder drug of his was completely to blame. I suddenly felt sick again, so I turned off the computer and tried to take a nap.


	3. Chapter 3

**I do not own Heavy Rain or any of its associated characters.**

* * *

The next morning was a repeat of the previous one – several hours of me lying on the cool tile of the bathroom floor. When I had finally regained my composure, I went to the kitchen to find blue orchids on the kitchen table and Norman pouring glasses of orange juice.

"You're okay," Norman breathed when he saw me sit at the table. I reached out and took the flowers in my hand and ran my fingers over the petals. "Aren't you?" he asked. All I did was nod. He came to the table and sat down across from me, placing the glasses of juice between us.

"April, I—"

"Triptocaine?"

"…What?" He was taken aback.

"Triptocaine," I repeated. It wasn't a question this time. A series of emotions flashed across his face. First surprise, then sadness, then anger, and finally shame.

"How did you find out?" he asked without meeting my eyes.

"Laundry."

"I'm an idiot," he said. But he wasn't. Not before, he wasn't. We sat in silence for a few moments. I don't think either of us knew what to say.

"So, what now?" I finally asked.

"You want me to stop taking it," he concluded. No shit.

"Please," I said instead. That seemed to be a frequent request of mine.

"We'll be late for work," he deflected. Even though he was right, I wished that timing wasn't so convenient for him.

That night, things were unusually quiet between the two of us, but at least he was home. I had decided that that was a start.

"Can we continue this morning's conversation?" I had dared to ask as I was getting ready for bed.

"No." That was it?

"Please?" There was that word again.

"What do you want me to say, April?" I couldn't figure out whether he was frustrated or just exhausted.

"Whatever you need to say," I said.

"You want the truth?" he asked.

"…Yes?"

"I can't stop taking it. You don't understand this mess I've got on my hands."

"What don't I understand?" I felt like this had the potential of becoming a constructive conversation. Sadly, that hope was short-lived because he suddenly began to yell at me.

"Goddammit, April! Why do you do this to me?!" he shouted, and the vulgar language and angry questioning continued. I grew anxious and started wringing my hands.

"Please stop yelling at me," I whispered. He stopped in mid-accusation.

"What?"

"Stop yelling at me," I repeated. He grabbed me by the shirt and slammed me against the wall, pinning me there.

"Why do you always have to make this about you?!" he screamed in my face.

"I'm trying to help you!" I yelled back. We continued to yell at each other, and I began to violently sob.

"You disgust me," he finished, and he turned his back on me. I sunk to the floor and continued to sob uncontrollably. Norman headed to the door. So, he was just going to leave me again?

"Norman," I yelped between sobs.

"What?" he asked flatly without turning to face me.

"I can't… stay… if you're… like this," I choked out. He said nothing and walked out the door. And there I was alone again, sobbing.

Ugly nausea struck me again the following morning, and I began to worry. My eyes were also so swollen from all the crying I had been doing that I called off from work. I found Norman at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal when I had found the courage to leave the bedroom. After glancing at the couch, I realized he had come home in the night and slept there instead of joining me in the bedroom.

"Norman?" I said with a hoarse voice.

"Yeah?" he responded softly. I sat at the table so he could see my pitiful state. When he looked at me, his eyes became soft. "You look sick," was all he said.

"I am," I said. "I'm not going to work today."

"Is this because of me?" he asked. I said nothing, and we were both silent for a moment. "April, I want to fix things," he finally said.

"How?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," he said.

"First of all, take me to the doctor?" I requested.

"Of course," he agreed.

"And no more triptocaine," I said.

"I knew you would ask that of me."

"I have every right to," I qualified.

"Yes, you do," he said with a distant look as if he were reflecting over the ugly parts of our relationship.

"So, what do you say?" I asked.

"I'll try." I had to take it because it was the best I was going to get.

Norman decided to go into work a few hours late so he could accompany me to the doctor, which is something I was immensely grateful for. Visiting the doctor always made me nervous.

"Is everything okay at home?" Dr. Madison asked before we could even get into the specifics of my condition.

"No," I admitted.

"What's happening?" she asked as she took a seat across from me.

"Does this stay in complete confidence?" I asked.

"Absolutely," she said.

"My husband—er, live-in boyfriend actually—are having some problems," I said vaguely, chickening out at the last minute.

"What kind of problems?" she tried.

"That's not important."

"It's important enough for your health to suffer," she said. I suppose she had a point, but it still didn't work. I wasn't about to sell Norman out. I didn't want anyone to know I was living with an addict.

"Can we just find out if I'm pregnant?" I suddenly asked. She raised her eyebrows at me.

"Is that why you're here?" she asked. I nodded.

The appointment seemed to last forever, and with Norman in the waiting room, I was even more anxious. Dr. Madison told me to go home and rest; she was going to run my tests over to the clinic, and she would give me a call later in the day. In the mean time, she told me to just stay hydrated.

"Everything okay?" Norman asked as we left.

"She ran some tests and is going to call me later," I told him.

"You going to be okay at home alone?" Funny, he never asked me that whenever he would stay out all night. Or when he would walk out on me.

"Yeah," I concluded. I was just worried that he wouldn't come straight home after work… maybe go out to get more of his wonder drug.

"I'll be home as early as I can," he promised as if he had read my mind.

When we got home, he tucked me into bed as if I were a child, sat a glass of water at my bedside, kissed me on the forehead, and left for work. I slept off and on until the phone finally rang that afternoon.

"April, this is Dr. Madison," she said.

"Hi," I responded.

"Your results have come in."

"And?" I prompted.

"It's positive." Great. Just great. This was exactly what I needed.

"Thanks," I said and hung up the phone even though I could hear her say something as I ended the call. I didn't know what to do, so I took the easy way out and just went back to sleep and hoped everything would be fixed when I woke up again. Boy, was I wrong.

I woke up when Norman slammed the front door closed. I sat up in bed to see him stumbling to the bathroom, so I went to stand outside the door.

"Norman?" I called through the door. He didn't answer, so I reached for the knob to find it unlocked. I slowly opened the door and found him lying on the floor in a sweat and shaking. I didn't hesitate when letting myself in and kneeling at his side.

"I don't know if I can do this," he croaked.

"Sure you can," I encouraged. I stepped over him and turned the shower on. "C'mon, let me help you." I helped him sit up, strip down to his underwear, and climb into the shower. He just sat there and let the water fall on him.

After that withdrawal episode, we just lounged in bed watching television and snacking on saltine crackers.

"Did the doctor call you back?" he asked during a toilet paper commercial.

"Uh huh."

"What did she say?"

"You need to get clean," I said.

"I know that—"

"Because she said you're going to be a dad," I cut him off. He was taken aback.

"What?" He was shocked. "You mean…"

"Yeah," I said without emotion. He pulled himself upright in bed and looked down at me, placing a hand on my stomach.

"But we've been so careful," he said to me.

"Not recently," I reminded him as I thought back to the times we would make up from our frequent fighting.

"So… we're going to have a baby," he said. I tilted my head to look at him, but I couldn't bring myself to say anything. I wanted to have a family with him, but that was before he became this other person. Sure, he was trying to sober up, but the risk of relapse was always there, and with how violent he got, I didn't want to raise a child in that type of environment.

"We can't have a baby if you're still on triptocaine," I finally told him. He exhaled heavily, his cheeks slightly puffing up when he did so.

"Thank you for being so patient with me. I've been so awful to you," he said. I nodded in agreement. "And thank you for helping me this afternoon." He reached out to run his fingers through my hair. "I want to fix things, and I want to have this baby with you."

"Okay," was all I said. Now, I just had to figure out how to tell my mother.

Two days later I was meeting her for lunch at our favorite sandwich shop in the area. She could immediately tell something was up.

"Trouble in paradise?" she questioned.

"Mom, please," I said. She giggled a little, but her eyes were still serious.

"So, what's going on?"

"Surprise, I'm having a baby," I said bluntly. I didn't feel like beating around the bush, but I still couldn't bring myself to use the word "pregnant." She cleared her throat before she spoke.

"I was hoping for no more surprises," she said with disappointment in her voice. "But a new life is always something to celebrate." She must have been reluctant to say that, but I could tell it was important for her to do so. "So, how are you and Norman handling it?"

"Well, it's difficult to say," I told her. She had absolutely no idea what we had been going through those recent months.

"Why might that be?" she asked.

"We've been fighting a lot recently, and now with the baby coming, it's like we have no choice but to tough it out, you know?"

"You wouldn't have toughed it out if you weren't pregnant?" she asked.

"It's complicated," I said as I buried my face in my hands.

"April, you're such a strong young woman that I know you can handle whatever comes at you. You'll figure this out, and then I'll have a beautiful grandchild to love," she told me with a compassionate smile. You've got to love my mom.

The next couple of days were awful. Between my morning sickness and Norman's withdrawals, I felt like we'd both die there in our apartment without anyone knowing. Well, maybe not die, but it seemed almost unbearable. We couldn't take care of each other because we were too wrapped up in trying to help ourselves.

And then Norman relapsed. He came home from work one day with guilt written all over his face.

"You didn't… please tell me you didn't," I said. He sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said flatly. "Just… please don't try to lecture me right now." I honored that request because I could tell he wasn't proud of himself. I decided to blame his drug use that day on the most recent murder. This "origami killer" was making my pseudo-husband's life a living hell.

A couple weeks later, we tried again. Same ugly process… cold showers and saltine crackers, but it seemed to be working. After many late night talks, I felt like he finally realized that I didn't want our child living with a drug addict as a father. I had this feeling that we would soon be able to focus on becoming parents.

"April?" he called one morning through the closed bathroom door.

"Uh huh," I responded. I was sitting on the cool tile floor and resting my head against the wall. He let himself in and sat on the floor next to me.

"I've been thinking… and I know I haven't been clean for very long, but…" He had definitely gotten my attention; I was very curious as to where this was going. "I'd like for us to get married," he finished.

"You want to get married?" I clarified.

"Yeah," he confirmed. And there was that smile I hadn't seen in such a long time.

"You're right about not being clean for very long," I said.

"If I don't relapse again… I mean, _when _I don't relapse again, would you be more comfortable saying yes?" he asked.

"You're on probation," I joked. "But if you stay clean from today on, I'll marry you after the baby is born," I agreed. So, not only was I pregnant, I was engaged. What an interesting surprise. We just needed to get through this pregnancy.

Throughout the following week, Norman's recovery was going exceptionally well, and he was definitely on his way to proving his sobriety to me. His withdrawal episodes became less frequent, so he was able to lend me a hand whenever I needed him. One night, though, I felt sicker than usual.

"What's wrong?" Norman asked as I clutched my stomach.

"I just really don't feel well," I said. Part of me wanted to blame my stomach pains on the worry I felt when I saw the newest headline about the origami killer. Norman always reacted negatively to them, and this time didn't seem much different. He was very distant, and I was nervous about another possible relapse. He had been doing so well, and I didn't want to seem pessimistic, so I didn't share my concern with him.

"Nausea?" he asked absently.

"This is different," I told him, which was the truth. I was in a lot of pain, and I didn't know what was wrong. Norman suggested I turn in early, so I went directly to bed. Strangely enough, he didn't join me, and this made me worry about him even more. I laid there and cried until I fell asleep.

I woke up the next morning with the same severe stomach pains. I rolled over onto my side to see that I was alone in bed; Norman was missing for the first time since his last relapse. I didn't want to do this again. Especially when I was in so much pain. I sat up, and everything hurt more when I moved. I looked down, and what I saw terrified me. My shorts were wet with blood. I immediately reached for the phone and dialed Norman. No answer. I tried his office phone and got his voicemail. I started to sob and didn't know what else to do. I called the only other person I thought of – Mom.

"Hello?" she said when she picked up the phone.

"Mom?!" I cried hysterically. I was still sobbing uncontrollably.

"April?"

"Come get me," I pleaded.

"Are you at home?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"I'm coming," she said without question and hung up the phone.

Hours later I was hooked up to all different types of machines at the hospital, and Norman was still nowhere to be found.

"Did you try his office phone again?" I asked my mom from under the oxygen mask the nurse had just placed over my face. After panicking for so long, this was the only way they could keep me from hyperventilating.

"Yeah," she said, obviously exhausted just as the doctor came in. "So, what happened?" my mom demanded without giving the doctor any chance to begin.

"I'm sorry, April, but you miscarried." And that was that – I didn't hear anything else. I was no longer going to be a mother. I was no longer making my mom a grandmother. I was devastated. My heart dropped, and I began to cry again.

I was allowed to go home that afternoon, and as soon as my mom made sure I was comfortable, she asked if I wanted her to stay. Personally, I think the idea of chewing Norman out whenever he showed up was what she was shooting for, and I didn't want anymore yelling. Because of this, I sent her home and told her I'd call her if I needed her. In the mean time, I curled up in the fetal position and waited for Norman to come home. I slept lightly but heard him come in around midnight. I sat up in bed, turned on the bedside lamp, and waited for him to come into the bedroom. There was that guilty face again.

"Where were you?" I asked hoarsely.

"April, I—"

"No," I interrupted.

"I just—"

"No… where _were_ you?"

"I'm sorry," he said. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"No, I'm not okay," I informed him. "I woke up and didn't know where you were, and I called and called, and you never answered. I was in the hospital for hours just to find out our baby was dead, and I _still_ couldn't find you! I waited for you to come home, and instead of being with your—sort of your wife who just lost her baby, you're busy doing God knows what! I'm tired. I'm lonely. I'm scared. I'm unhappy. I know you're using again. And I'm in so much pain."

"I failed you, didn't I?" he asked after a few moments of silence. No shit! But instead of responding, I just cried again. He was suddenly at my side crying too. I wanted to push him away, but I just reveled in his presence because although he didn't know it yet, I had already decided what I was going to do. I knew he loved me, but the best thing for him was to get clean, and he wasn't going to get clean with me there. Leaving him was either going to be his wake-up call, or it was going to be the end of him, but it was the only thing left for me to do.

The next morning, after Norman had left for work, my mom came over to help me move my things out. I would live with her until I could fully recover from my miscarriage and from the devastation of this relationship. An hour before Norman was expected home, and after my mom had packed my last box in her car, I laid my key on the kitchen table and left, locking the door behind me. I didn't leave a note. In fact, I didn't leave any evidence that I had ever lived there at all.

Norman rang my cell phone several times that night, but I didn't have the heart to answer him. I knew that the moment I heard him I would want to forgive him and move back, but this was what was best for the both of us. While lying in bed, I wondered how he must have reacted when he saw all my things were missing from our apartment. Did he cry? Did he use? Did he make the decision to give up the triptocaine and get himself back on track?

I thought of him often after that. I was still madly in love with him, but there was no going back. I would even dream of our unborn child at times – a gorgeous baby boy with his daddy's features. After I had recovered enough to go back to work, I had soon heard that he had been transferred to investigate the origami murders. What happened during that time, or even after, is still a mystery to me.

FIN


End file.
